


Stronger

by gloriousrumpoflife



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: F/M, tho lotor is an infant in this one welp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-07
Updated: 2017-10-07
Packaged: 2019-01-09 23:25:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12286422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gloriousrumpoflife/pseuds/gloriousrumpoflife
Summary: My fic for the vldlunarladies exchange!  The request was for Zarkon to kiss his wife and ill son goodbye before going on a mission.





	Stronger

**Author's Note:**

> The first two scenes take place before the rift opened, while the rest takes place after. Also, I use the alien measurement of time, so for those who haven’t memorized the conversion, quintant = a day, while phoebe = a month.

It was a momentous occasion, the day she told him.

            There was to be an heir to the throne.  An everlasting symbol of peace and unity between Altea and the Galra race of Daibazaal.  A _child_.

            Honerva laughed so brightly, with more joy than he had heard from her in years, when Zarkon picked her up in a hug, cheering for life she carried within her.

            “Don’t hold me so tight, darling,” Honerva said, a chuckle in her voice.  She kissed the top of his head, her warmth breaching his helmet.  “You’re stronger than you realize.”

            Zarkon guffawed.  “I can say the same to you, my love.”

            A few quintants after the discovery, Honerva finally took time away from her studies.  A number of rites had to be performed, after all, to celebrate her impregnation.  In the many years he had known her, Honerva’s craving for knowledge was equaled only by a strict adherence to her culture’s customs.  Zarkon would be jealous if it weren’t for how much he loved her for those very quirks.  He even found himself chuckling whenever he caught her working when she should be resting.

            Yet something wasn’t right.  In the last two phoebs before the delivery, Honerva lay in the birthing chambers, her back resting against Zarkon’s chest, her head on his shoulder.  Following Altean tradition, a farseer from her planet was to tell the expecting parents about their child’s future.  The gender, where the child would succeed in, even what major problems the child may face.  Zarkon made sure to request knowledge of his offspring’s future conquests, as was the right and duty of the Galran race to conquer for the sake of their people.  Honerva playfully slapped him for asking, a laugh on her lips.

            But as the farseer’s hand hovered over Honevera, his pupils shrank.  His mouth moved, and though it was hard to hear, Zarkon was sure the word _usurper_ escaped.

            “What’s this now?” Zarkon questioned, careful to reign in his fury.

            The farseer looked up at him, then to Honerva, then to his divination tools.  “Forgive me, Lord Zarkon.  I must have brought the wrong instruments—”

            “What did you see?” Honerva demanded, an unfamiliar iciness coating her voice.

            “Well…” the farseer began, “It is strange.  I see two prophecies, both of which contradict the other.  One sees your son, grown and beautiful, yet vying for the throne in Lord Zarkon’s absence.  While the other…” A shuttering inhale, an equally shaky exhale, “…the other sees your son dead, merely an infant.”

            The birthing chambers had to be repaired after Zarkon’s ensuing outburst.

 

* * *

 

            Zarkon cordoned himself to his bedroom after that.  Honerva joined him some time later, for the midwife insisted she take a medicinal bath first, “to ensure the lying prophecy does not come true.”

            Honerva sat by him when she returned from the waters.  Despite their proximity, they did not touch.

            “Tell nobody,” Honerva said.  “Anyone who knows about my pregnancy must be sworn to secrecy.”

            Zarkon rubbed the backside of his fist.  “Why?”

            “I don’t want a celebration for a death,” Honerva simply answered.  She reached over and grabbed his hand, entangling her fingers with his.  He looked at her and saw a smile too fragile for her to possess.  “After all, it was not long ago that Daibazaal was shaken by those creatures from the rift.  Giving false hope to terrified citizens would be cruel.  We should prepare in secret.  Once we are certain our son will live, then we can tell everyone.  I’m sure they’ll forgive us.”  She put on a stronger, yet obviously falser, smile for him.  “It’ll be wonderful.”

 

* * *

 

            Lotor was born with a cough.

            It was such a small sound.  Should have been nothing.  The Galran race was known for its resiliency, a quality often passed on even to half-Galrans.  Likewise, there was the Altean life force, so powerful it could be transferred to objects.  Lotor should have been fine, prophecy be damned.

            But that damned cough would not go.

            “You should sleep, darling,” Honerva said to him, late one night, as he walked around his palace, Lotor in his arms.  She didn’t spare him a glance.

            “I can say the same to you,” Zarkon replied mordantly, watching Honerva work on the quintessence.  “My love,” he whispered, stroking back Lotor’s hair.  His son coughed with the touch.

            He heard a banging sound.  Turning to his wife, he saw Honerva’s fist against her workbench, shoulders tense and shaking.  “Must you bring him in here?!”

            “My love—” Zarkon began, reaching out to her, only to be interrupted.

            “First Kova, now my _son_!” Honerva wailed.  She fell to her knees, a broken sob escaping.  “Why must this happen?” she asked as she wrapped her arms around her frame.  “Medicine is keeping Kova alive, but nothing is working to make that cough stop!  Did you bring him here to _taunt_ me, Zarkon?”

            He kneeled next to her, a hand on her shoulder.  “You know I would never do that to you, Honerva.  I… just couldn’t sleep, and I ended up here.  I’m sorry.”

            She turned to him, meeting his eyes for a split tick before burying her face in the crook of his neck, one hand on their infant son.  “No, I should be the one apologizing.  I’m… so terrified.  He’s dying, Zarkon.”  The shaking in her shoulders was worsening, as was the tremble in her voice.  “He’s—”

            And then a damn attendant entered the room.

            “Ah!” the attendant exclaimed, stumbling back.  “I’m—I’m so sorry, your majesties.  I-I-I was looking for Lord Zarkon, and, oh no, I will go, the message is not that urgent--!” Frantically, they turned around, about to leave through the same door they entered from.

            “Wait,” Zarkon called after them.  He passed Lotor to his wife, stroking her face for a brief moment before standing.  “You say there is a message for me.  Who is it from?”

            The attendant turned around again, eyes kept to the ground as they held out a communicator.  “Trigel, milord.  She says there is need for Voltron.”

            Zarkon bit back his fury and walked to the attendant.  “Understood,” he said as he took the communicator.  “You may go.”

            A few hasty words were uttered and the attendant finally left.  Zarkon stared at the communicator, before deciding to put it down.  Voltron could wait—

            “You should go,” Honerva spoke up.  Without looking up from her son, she said, “Voltron cannot wait for a secret child.  We will be fine.”

            Zarkon returned to her side.  “I’m sure it is nothing serious.  I should be here for you.”

            Honerva shook her head and looked up at her husband.  Her beautiful complexion was unkindly marred by tear streaks.  “I promise you, I will find a solution for our son while you are gone.”  She offered him an honest smile.  “I’m stronger than you realize.”

            Zarkon kissed her.  “You certainly are,” he said when he pulled back.  He put a hand on his son’s head, combing back the tufts of his hair.  “I’m sure you are, too, Lotor,” he whispered before placing a peck upon the infant’s forehead.

 

* * *

 

            The planet of Lyra was in deeper trouble than Trigel had realized.  It took quintants upon quintants to resolve every last conflict caused by the natives of the Abell planet, who had been attempting a coup d’état so they could drain Lyra of its natural resources.  Zarkon received regular updates from a trusted subordinate back on Daibazaal, but it was not long before he came to dread any transmission.  Lotor was only getting worse.  Blood had been found on the inside of his clothes.  Honerva was not sleeping.  She screamed whenever someone approached her.

            Only one piece of good news came during his time on Lyra.  Kova was livelier.  The poor cat had fallen ill after the creatures from the rift had escaped.  But, by some kind of miracle, she was walking again, eating regularly, and causing all sorts of trouble as she once had.  Blaytz had bullied him for smiling that quintant.

            During their last week on Lyra, Zarkon received a transmission directly from Honerva.  In his bunker, he opened his communicator, and he nearly mistook her for a mirage, a mere hallucination from the distant past.  She was smiling so jovially, an enthusiastic glint in her eyes that he had barely seen since the quintant he had met her.

            “My love, are you alright…?” he couldn’t help but ask.

            “Of course I am, silly!” Honerva replied, laughing.  “You’ll never believe what I’ve discovered!”

            “Tell me more.”

            Honerva hummed, pleased.  “Well… first, let me tell you some good news!”  She reached for something off screen and pulled in Lotor, fast asleep.  Zarkon blinked.  He knew the boy on screen was his son, but something was…off, somehow.  Maybe it was the color of his skin, or the shade of his hair, but the infant he saw was not the same one he had seen weeks ago.

            “Honerva, what is wr—”

            “Lotor stopped coughing!” Honerva interrupted.  “He and Kova both are doing so much better.”  She cradled Lotor in her arm, stroking his face with her free hand.  As she looked down at their son, her expression was that of pure adoration.  “Do you want to know how I cured them?”

            “O-of course I do!” Zarkon nearly shouted, unable to hold back his excitement.

            “I fed them quintessence.”  Honerva met his eyes through the screen, a demure smile on her lips.  “You’d be amazed how strong they became from just a drop.  Imagine what continued supplements could do for them.  I’ll tell you all about it when you come home.”

            A wave of cold relief came over him.  “I cannot wait, my love,” he replied, honest with every word.  “You are so brilliant.  I love you.”

            “I love you too, Zarkon.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and critiques are deeply appreciated!


End file.
